A Train Ride to Remember
by catty-cat-cat
Summary: Arthur Kirkland is a college student who always rides home by train. One day, he sees a mysterious Frenchman coming in to the train station at four o'clock in the afternoon. AU, human name used. Supposedly a birthday fic for France. Don't like, don't read. No flames. RnR?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

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 _Breaking news: a train accident had taken place in 'W' station at six this evening. Witnesses said the train lost its balance and stumbled out of the railway into the platform just as it arrived. Officer Alfred F. Jones of 'H' Police Department stated there are at least 102 dead and 234 injured, in which 201 of those are in critical state and still in emergency care at 'H' hospital._

" _Yes, there are at least 102 victims have been killed in this accident. We still don't know how this could happen, but we're going to run an investigation real soon," said Officer Jones to the press._

 _The police presume that the accident happened because of technical problems. The investigation is still on the run._

" _We still presume that technical problems is the cause of this accident, but it may change along the course of the investigation," another officer, Ivan Braginsky, stated._

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Arthur Kirkland walked deeper into the station. He had a novel in his right hand and a bag slung around his left shoulder. He had planned to go home by train this evening, and he had booked his ticket. All he had to do was to wait his train. Arthur checked his watch; three fifty in the afternoon. He did a double take to realize that he had come too early as his train arrived at five thirty.

The Brit finally arrived at the platform. He found almost all of the benches were full except for two benches. One bench on the front was completely empty while the one behind it, there was a middle aged man. Arthur decided to sit on the empty bench.

Just as Arthur was approaching the front bench, the middle aged man on the second bench stood up and left. Arthur blinked, assuming that the man left because his train was here. He then looked again; now there were two empty benches. The Brit decided to occupy the second bench since it was the nearest.

Arthur sat down and set his bag beside him. It was a good thing that he brought his novel with him. Otherwise, he would have to end up sitting there, looking at the passengers awkwardly while trying to find something to entertain himself until his train came. Sure, there was his phone, but he didn't have that many of games. Besides, he could never win Sudoku no matter how many times he played. His Asian friend, Honda Kiku, was far more professional than him when it came to Sudoku. Arthur had ever asked Kiku to train him, but he could only win once, with Kiku helping him. Other times, he never won.

The blonde haired Brit opened his novel by the bookmark and checked his watch; four o'clock. Just then, a man in a trench coat passed him by. Arthur glanced as the man approached the front bench and sat just right behind him. Arthur looked again; the man had long, wavy blonde hair, sitting just around his shoulders. He didn't see the man's face when he walked by, and could only saw his hair. Arthur stared at the man in front of him, who occasionally looked around the railway and checked his watch. He presumed the man was waiting for his train, so he went back to his novel.

Time went by, and Arthur was engrossed in his novel, so engrossed that he jumped when he heard his train had arrived through the intercom. Arthur, thinking that he was late, hastily tucked his bookmark into his novel and picked up his bag. He ran to the platform and stepped inside his train. Arthur then found his usual seat just by the window and sat down. He checked his watch; five thirty. Arthur let out a relieved sigh. He suddenly became embarrassed on the fact that he hurriedly stepped inside the train, thinking that he was late, when in actuality it had just arrived.

He looked around the train; it was a bit vacant. Only a few passengers were there. Arthur then looked at the station; sure enough, the station was also vacant. A few passengers were seen walking in and out the station.

And the long blonde haired man was still sitting on that bench.

Arthur blinked. He didn't realize that the long haired man was still sitting there. Was he still waiting for his train? Probably so, Arthur thought as he looked through the window. The man was still looking around the railway; worry was visible on his pale face. He occasionally lifted his left wrist, checking his watch.

The Brit hummed as he looked further. Nobody seemed to acknowledge the man's presence there. The passengers were just passing him by, not even giving him a glance. Arthur frowned, but his train of thoughts was cut as the train began to move slowly, leaving the 'W' station to the next station.

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Kirkland Residence, 19:35 PM

"So how's the journey?" Seamus asked as he brought the tea tray to the living room.

Arthur shrugged. "It was well," he said as his big brother set the tray on the table. He picked up a tea cup and sipped it. "I arrived too early at the station, though, and I was thankful to have my novel in hand."

Allistair snorted beside him. "Your train arrived at five thirty, ain't it?"

"Yes."

Seamus laughed as he sat on the sofa across his brothers. "So you're missing home, aren't you?"

Arthur almost choked on his tea. "What the—no, I'm not! What makes you have the impression that I'm missing home?"

"If my memory doesn't fail me, I think you finished your class at three o'clock sharp. Your train arrives at five thirty and you said you arrived too early. Doesn't it mean you're a bit homesick?" Seamus stated as he picked his tea cup and sipped the content.

"What time did you arrive at the station?" Allistair asked, picking his tea cup.

"Around three fifty," Arthur answered as he sipped his tea.

"Ah, was it jammed?"

The blonde nodded, sipping his tea. "Damn right it was," Arthur murmured under his breath. "I swear I will never take a taxi during a bloody jam ever again." He paused, sipping his tea again, before realizing his twin older brother was nowhere to be seen. "By the way, where's Dylan?"

"Still in the shower," Allistair grunted, drinking his tea. "The lad's probably still on his imaginary concert."

Both Seamus and Arthur snorted. Silence then followed. The three siblings then drowned in their own thoughts while sipping their tea. There was no other sound aside from occasional faint slurp from the siblings and the ticking clock on the wall.

"Hey, Art, what railway station did you take?" Seamus asked all of the sudden.

Arthur blinked at the sudden question. "Uh, the 'W' station, as usual. I thought you already know ages ago?"

"You still use that railway station?" Allistair asked, one of his thick eyebrows rose.

"Of course," Arthur replied. "What? You lot want to recommend a better railway station for me?"

"Probably," Seamus muttered, scratching his light red hair. "I mean, you should have heard the news. You're the one in that town, so you should have known."

Arthur frowned. "News?" he murmured. He paused for a moment to try recalling recent event that related to 'W' station, until something hit him. "Oh, you mean the railway accident a month ago?"

"Aye," Allistair nodded, putting down his cup on the tray. "Claimed 102 victims, they said. Police assumed the cause was technical problems, but I think it was human error, though I'm not too sure."

"Ah, I think I have heard a bit about it," Arthur said. "It should be technical errors, because the witness said it lost its balance and stumbled into the platform, killing 102 victims in the process. But what is it supposed to do with the railway station I'm using now? I know the accident took place in that station, but it doesn't mean I have to use another railway station. You know I hate to use a different railway."

"True," Allistair grunted to Seamus. "Remember when this wee lad refused to go home when the accident took place? He slept in his friend's apartment for two weeks before the 'W' railway station opened for business again."

Seamus chuckled. "Well, yeah, I know," he muttered. "It's just that—well, we're afraid if there's something going on in that station. I mean, you take a round-trip from college to home for about a year or two using that 'W' railway station. And in that 'W' railway station, an accident happened a month ago. Aren't you worried?"

Arthur laughed. "You lot are worrying too much," he said. "I will be alright, I'm sure of it."

"Well, knowing you, I'm quite sure that you will be alright, but both Seamus and Dylan are worried if another accident happens, maybe some sort of terrorist attack or something," Allistair stated.

"No, no," Arthur waved his hand in dismissive manner. "I will be alright, I assure you."

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 **A/N:**

 **Okay, first: Happy Birthday, France! Though the French hasn't been focused on yet here, in the later chapter, he'll be. This is his birthday fic after all (though I'm feeling I've been focusing on England instead of France lol).**

 **Second: I'm not British, or Scottish, or Irish, or even Welsh, so I'm really sorry for the wrong usage of slangs here and there in this chap and the later chaps. I'm trying my best, tho.**

 **Third: Flames are not allowed.**

 **Fourth: I'm really sorry for the OOCness.**

 ** _Bonjour_ , everybody. Here I am, a new author in this fandom, attempting to make another birthday fic for Big Brother France. This time, it's not a one-shot, but multichapter! I'm really in love with France and am proud of it, though lately I feel like I've tortured him enought in a few fics I've written in my PC lol. I'm kind of nervous how this would turn up, though. Hopefully dear readers would like to, uh, support, maybe? I've planned the whole plot, though, so the update should be around two or three days after publishment.**

 **Feel free to leave comments and concrits. This is only the prologue, so I expect nothing, actually. But still I ask you readers to leave a comment, please. Comment or concrit, it's up to you. Tell me your thoughts about this, what you expect, everything. Have something to ask? Just PM me. :)**

 **See you in the next chapter. :3**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

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'H' College cafeteria, 10:25 AM

"Eh? You're asking me to take you to that train station?" Kiku asked, his dark eyes widened.

"Uh, yes. Is something wrong?" Arthur said, raising his thick eyebrow. "You know I'm using that railway station for two years."

"Ah, _hai_ , I know that," Kiku hesitantly replied. "It's just that Ludwig- _san_ had already asked me to take him to somewhere else this afternoon yesterday, so I cannot cancel his request."

Arthur's shoulders slumped slightly. So he really had to use a taxi? And someone said the traffic would be jammed this afternoon. He sighed. "Okay, then," he murmured as he sipped his coffee paper cup.

"S- _sumimasen_!" Kiku exclaimed. "I never thought that you would ask me to—"

"No, no, it's alright, Kiku. Don't fuss over it," Arthur chuckled. "I'll just take a taxi."

"But the road will be jammed again this afternoon," Kiku pointed out.

"I know, but I've asked everyone I know to take me to the station, and they said they're busy. So I think I'll just take a taxi."

Kiku hesitated. "S- _sumimasendeshita_ ," he murmured.

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What a surprise. Arthur arrived at the station quite early for such a traffic jam. As soon as the taxi drove away, he lifted his watch; three forty five in the afternoon. Arthur shrugged. He might as well wait for the train inside the building like yesterday. He brought his novel, and he already booked his ticket. The train would be arrived at five thirty in the afternoon, as usual, so Arthur had so much time to kill.

As per usual, he walked into the all-too-familiar station building. As per usual, he took his ticket in the same locket. As per usual, he would walk to the benches and sit on the second bench from the front, and then read to kill time.

Arthur flipped one page after another, engrossed in the novel, until a certain presence alarmed his senses. The Brit blinked as he looked up from his book and turned around, only to see a man passing by. Arthur stared as the man walked to the vacant bench in front of him and sat right in front of him. The blonde Brit narrowed his green eyes. The man had long, wavy blonde hair, and donned a familiar trench coat. The man looked around the railway, occasionally lifting his wrist to check the time.

Was he the man from yesterday? Arthur thought, tilting his head. He lifted his watch; four o'clock sharp. Funny. Yesterday, the long haired man came and sat precisely at four o'clock, too. He even acted the same; looking around the railway and checking the time, as if he was waiting for a train to come. Was he waiting for someone, then?

He probably waited for someone, Arthur concluded. Giving no further thought on the topic, he went back to read his novel.

Arthur probably would not understand how time flew by so fast when he was having fun, for when he reached the climax of the novel, a female voice just had to warn him that his train had arrived through the intercom. Arthur groaned softly as he bookmarked the page, picked up his bag, and stood up. He walked to the platform, before noticing that the long haired man did not move an inch from his position for an hour and a half. Arthur glanced at the man through his shoulder, wondering why other passengers didn't give him a glance like him did, before stepping into the train.

The long haired man was still sitting there, looking around the railway worriedly, and occasionally checking his watch.

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"Hey, Art, are you even listening?"

Arthur blinked and looked up. He was in the kitchen, with his four older brothers sitting around the table. Dinner had just begun a few moments ago. The youngest blonde of the quartet opened his mouth. "Uh, pardon?"

Dylan huffed. "You aren't listening, are you?" he demanded as he ate his chicken.

"Ah, pardon me. I was just thinking," Arthur said softly as he scooped up his vegetable.

Seamus chewed on his ham as he spoke incoherently, making Arthur and Dylan raised their thick eyebrows.

"Seamus, what part of 'eat before you speak' do you not know?" Allistair warned him as he sliced his pork.

The light red haired brother murmured something unintelligible before swallowing his ham. "Ah, sorry, brother," he apologized with a nervous chuckle, recieving a grunt in reply. "What I'm trying to say is, what were you thinking, Art?" he asked, referring to the youngest brother.

"Oh, nothing, actually," Arthur shrugged. "I just saw a weird man in the station, twice in a row."

"A weird man?" Dylan asked, raising his thick eyebrow.

"Twice in a row?" Seamus repeated.

"Does that mean you've seen him yesterday?" Allistair asked.

Arthur nodded. "The man was acting weird, but I think it's just me," he said. "He was always looking around the railway and checking his watch, as though he was waiting for a train to arrive or something. Maybe he waited for someone—I don't know."

"Is there more?" Seamus asked.

Arthur shrugged. "Aside that he came into the building precisely at four o'clock sharp twice in a row, I think no."

"You sure he wasn't a terrorist or something like that?" Dylan asked slowly.

Arthur deadpanned. "If he was, then I should have died long ago," he replied.

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 **A/N:**

 **Rather short, eh? This is like... a filler, of some sort?**

 **But don't worry, the next chap will be longer. I've told you that I've planned the whole things out.**

 **Feel free to comment, and don't forget concrits, too. Tell me your thoughts about this chap, and other things you have in mind.**

 ** _Au revoir_. :3**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

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Again, Arthur arrived at the station earlier than he should have. But this time, it was not pure coincidence—he had planned to arrive earlier than usual. As Arthur read his book, he had expected the long haired man to come and sit on the front bench, just right in front of him. So he waited for two things; the mysterious man and his train.

A presence alarmed him. Arthur looked up from his book and turned around; sure enough, the man he had been waiting for had arrived. Just as he expected, the man was the same man from yesterday and the day before; long blonde hair sitting just on his shoulders, and the same trench coat. As the man passed by, Arthur glanced at the clock on the nearest wall; four o'clock sharp. Arthur glanced back at the man who approached the vacant bench in front of him and sat just right in front of him.

Arthur paused before bookmarking his book and closing it. He stood up, picking his bag up, and walked to the front bench. He was going to try to greet the man. If the man did not acknowledge him, then Arthur might as well sit there and continue reading his book since he did plan to sit beside the man.

The blonde Brit sat down, setting his bag down on the floor since the bench only available for two seats. Arthur propped his elbows on his thighs, his book still in hand. He took a deep breath, before opening his mouth.

"Good afternoon," he greeted, making sure his voice was loud enough for the man beside him to hear.

The man blinked twice, turning his face towards him, then looked around, before looking at Arthur again, bewildered. The long haired man hesitantly opened his mouth, " _moi?_ "

So he was French, Arthur thought. "Well, who else did I greet?" he asked sarcastically. Arthur noticed that the other man had dark blue eyes and thin, well-trimmed stubble around his chin. The Frenchman was probably around Arthur's age, maybe older.

"A-ah, _excusez-moi_! I thought you were greeting someone else," the Frenchman said apologetically.

Arthur chuckled. "Who else is here aside from us?"

"Ah, _désulé_ ," the Frenchman muttered.

"So you're French?" Arthur asked.

The man nodded with a smile. " _Oui, je suis française_ ," he said.

"But you can speak English, can't you?"

"Oh, how rude of you! Of course I can speak English!" the Frenchman exclaimed, annoyed.

"Well, I thought you were the type who is too proud to speak English as a second language, but I'm relieved to hear it."

The Frenchman huffed.

Arthur chuckled. "Okay, fine. I'm sorry," he said, extending his hand. "My name is Arthur Kirkland. Nice to meet you."

The Frenchman looked at his hand before happily accepted the handshake. " _Je m'appelle_ Francis Bonnefoy."

Arthur nodded with smile, before noticing that the other's hand was somehow—cold? It was late spring and the sunshine was pretty hot outside. How come the hand felt cold? Could the other man be from a Wallmart before he went here? Probably so. They have air conditioner, so it should be cold in Wallmart.

Arthur broke the handshake, giving no further thoughts about it. He paused. "So, I see you came in exactly at four o'clock in the last three days," he stated.

"Ah, _oui_ ," Francis nodded, "I'm here to pick up my friends."

"They're coming here?"

Francis nodded again. "Both of them live separated, but we're good friends," he said with a smile. "I really do hope they're coming. I have already booked two hotel rooms for them."

The Brit frowned. "Wait, you came here for three days just to wait for them to arrive?"

"Uh, not really. I've come here before. Is it wrong?" Francis asked.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. If Francis had ever come here before, then why did Arthur never noticed him until two days ago? Was it because he usually hung out in Kiku's apartment while waiting for his train? Probably so, because Francis might always be coming at four, while Arthur's train arrive at five thirty. He just coincidentally arrived earlier two days ago, so that was why he just noticed Francis was there that day.

"They said they would come soon, so I wait here," Francis continued. "But they hadn't arrived yet. That's why I come again today."

Arthur stared at Francis. "Maybe you should send a message to them, ask them when they will be coming," he suggested.

Francis laughed nervously. "Ah, I left my phone in my apartment. I came hurriedly so..."

The blonde Brit brought his palm to his head with a sigh. "Did you three agree on when to pick them up?" he asked.

"... _Non_...?"

Arthur sighed again. "You're hopeless," he muttered. "You might as well wait here for the rest of your life. There's a chance that they lied to you, claiming to come here but in truth they went on a holiday without you."

"But the last message I received was they will be here soon!" Francis objected. "I may didn't ask when they will arrive specifically, but I just have to come here real quick to pick them up."

Arthur sighed for the third time. "Then you'll have to wait forever! You know you three have to agree on when to pick them up if they're really planning on coming here!"

"But I'm the one who ask them to come over! They can't refuse my request, can they?"

"Look here, git." Arthur's patience started to wear off. "If you're the one who ask them to come over, then they had two choices; yes or no. If they said yes, they should have been here two days ago! They're not here right now, and this is the umpteenth day you've come here, so they clearly said no to your invitation!"

"How can you be sure that they declined my invitation? There are chances that they can't come because of something, and I haven't received a message that said they're canceling the plan! So what makes you convinced that they refused my invitation? If you're a wizard, then it's a whole different story! But clearly, you're not a wizard! You don't even look like one! So I don't believe a word you said!"

"Oh, so you're telling me that you only believe me if I'm a wizard, git?!"

" _Oui_ , and as I've said, you're not. So I don't believe you." Francis crossed his arms and looked away with a huff.

"Tch, whatever you said, then. Don't come crawling to me if they really don't come and cancel their plan!"

"Haa? Who wants to crawl to you of all people? And by the way, I don't crawl—I'd walk elegantly." Sparkles suddenly appeared around Francis as he waved his long blonde hair.

Arthur growled, veins appearing around his temple. "If this isn't a public area, I'd love to kill you right here."

Francis scoffed. "Try killing me, then. You don't have the guts."

"Hmph, we'll see about that."

Francis did a double take. "W-wait, you're actually going to kill me?"

"Well, there are so many things that can turn into weapons here, and the bathroom is over there—"

"Y-you're not going to kill innocent people, are you, _cher_ Arthur? After all, I didn't do anything."

"Don't call me that, frog!"

" _Quoi_? What the hell did you just call me?!"

"Frog! You happy?! That's why don't call me like that!"

"But your name is Arthur, _non_?"

"You add something in front of my name, git!"

"Oh, you mean _cher_? What, you don't want me to call you _cher_?" Francis winked. "Or maybe you just don't know the meaning of _cher_ because you can't understand _la langue française_?" he grinned.

Arthur scoffed. "If I didn't understand French, I wouldn't have understood what you were saying minutes ago."

Francis pondered this. "Hmm, you have a point."

"I know that _cher_ means dear in French, so don't you even dare to call me dear."

"Oh, so you know!"

"Of course I know, git! I learned French when I was a wee lad! In fact, I was forced to!" It was a lie, but Arthur couldn't help it. This man was more annoying than he would expect.

Francis giggled. "An Englishman speaking French! _C'est mignon_!"

"It's not cute at all, frog!"

And they kept on like that, bickering and shouting profanities at each other, despite they were complete strangers and they had just met. They argued about one thing after another, changing from discussing something into debating senselessly, or worse; shouting senselessly at one another. One side had his strong opinion, the other mocked his opinion and claiming his own opinion was far more superior, and then it escalated quickly into a full-blown fight of two adult men. Both Arthur and Francis were too stubborn and hard-headed to give up. When Arthur's train arrived, the duo was almost strangling each other.

Arthur glanced at his supposed train, and loosened his grip around Francis' neck. "Tch, it's about damn time," he grumbled as both of them released their grips around each other's neck. Arthur went to the bench to retrieve his book and his bag, then walked away from Francis.

The Brit was halfway to the platform when Francis shouted, "See you tomorrow, _rosbif_!"

A tick of vein popped out on Arthur's temple. He turned around. "What the bloody hell did you just call me, frog?!"

" _Rosbif_! You happy?! That's why don't call me frog!" Francis snickered.

Hearing the familiar phrase, Arthur growled. "You little—"

Unfortunately, a female voice told the passengers of the train to board through the intercom. Arthur clicked his tongue in dismay. "Fine! Count yourself lucky this time, git! Tomorrow, I'll definitely strangle you!" he shouted, pointing at Francis as he approached the train.

Francis' face beamed. "Oh, so you're going to meet me tomorrow? How exciting!" he squealed.

"Yes, and I'll surely strangle you tomorrow! See to it!"

Arthur sat on his usual seat by the window and put his bag on his side seat. He looked outside the window; Francis was still standing there, waving his hand at him with a big grin on his face. Arthur deadpanned, thinking of what to do as a reply when the train started to move. Francis was still waving his hand outside, that big grin never left his face. Arthur sighed. Maybe a wave of hand wouldn't hurt.

The blonde Brit then waved his hand once towards the Frenchman. He saw Francis opened his mouth, probably laughed, and proceeded to wave his hand joyously.

Arthur huffed. Why would Francis be happy when he waved back at him? Ah, well. This was the first time he made a friend outside of college environment. Though Francis was annoying and often getting on his nerves, Arthur decided to give this friendship a chance. Maybe they could work something out instead of fighting their heads off.

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"I just made a friend," Arthur said.

Both Seamus and Dylan turned to him, their green eyes widened in shock.

"Really, brother?!" Seamus asked, and Arthur nodded.

"Whoa, that's something!" Dylan exclaimed. "Tell us more! Tell us more!"

Arthur paused for a moment, leaning on the sofa. "You remember the night before, when we had dinner, and I told you that I saw a weird man in the station," he said.

Seamus nodded. Dylan frowned. "Don't tell me you were befriending that man," he muttered.

"He was a Frenchman, and in fact, yes, I was," Arthur nodded. "He was a pain in the arse, and we fought a lot even in our first meeting. But, uh, I suppose we can work something out."

Seamus applauded. "This is the first time our dearest Arthur made a friend outside of college," he stated, slinging his arm around Arthur's neck. "I'm so proud of you, boy-o."

"Yes, yes. Now bugger off," Arthur grumbled, pushing Seamus away.

"Is he safe?" Dylan suddenly asked.

Both Seamus and Arthur turned to Dylan, their thick eyebrows raised in bewilderment.

Dylan sighed. "I mean, he doesn't have any bad intention, does he?"

Seamus gave him a look, and Arthur brought his palm to his head. "If he did, I would have known, brother dearest," Arthur sighed. "No, he doesn't. Even though he was such an arsehole and always getting on my nerves, he's not that bad."

"Not that bad?" Dylan raised a thick eyebrow.

"I've told you, we fought in our first meeting," Arthur sighed again.

"But why would you two bicker?" Seamus asked with a laugh.

"I don't know," Arthur admitted, shrugging. "I guess we were just too stubborn and hard-headed."

Both Seamus and Dylan snorted.

"And he was just too bloody proud of himself," Arthur added with a huff. "Whenever I started a topic, Francis would respond annoyingly and I really had to hold the urge to punch him right in the face when he did."

"Whoa! So his name is Francis?" Seamus exclaimed.

The young blonde sighed. "Yes, his name is Francis," he muttered.

A redhead was seen peeking from the kitchen. "Oi, lads! Dinner's ready!" Allistair shouted to his three little brothers in the living room.

"Hurry, we've got to tell this to Allistair!" Seamus urged his twin younger brothers to stand up.

Arthur made a face. "Why would you want to tell this to Allistair? He doesn't need to know!"

Once again, the eldest brother peeked from the kitchen. "Oi, if you lot aren't hurry, I'll have the lamb chops for myself," he threatened.

Seamus gasped. "No! Not the lamb chops!" he exclaimed, dashing to the kitchen, followed by the twin brothers who walked casually.

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 **A/N:**

 **First: I'm not French, British, Scottish, Irish, or Welsh. So excuse the wrong usage of slangs and languages here and there.**

 **Second: Very sorry for OOCness...**

 ** _Bonjour_ , everybody! Told you so the next chap is gonna be longer. And this time, our dear France is here! X3 I'm really nervous how this would turn out, so please leave a review and concrits. Let me know your thoughts about this, and if you have a question, PM me. Stay tune for the next chap.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

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Arthur, once again, arrived earlier than he should have. He was currently sitting on his usual bench, the second from the front, and reading his unfinished novel. As usual, his train would arrive at five thirty, and he arrived around three fifty. Arthur purposefully arrived earlier because he wanted to check if the Frenchman whom he had made friend with yesterday would really arrive exactly at four o'clock.

The Brit looked around the station; passengers walked in and out, some of them standing not far from the platform, the others sitting on the available benches. People made a line in front of the lockets to buy train tickets—as for Arthur, he would always booked his—some people walked in and out of the toilets, and bought some snacks and drinks from available markets and vending machines.

Yes, just a plain old train station. Arthur had been using this station since two years ago, where he would book a round-trip ticket from the current town where his college was to his home in the neighboring town. He was dismayed at the idea of staying in an apartment or a boarding house, so Arthur preferred to book a round-trip ticket for two years. The distance between his hometown and the town where his college was in wasn't too far, and it would only take half an hour to get to his destination, so he would arrive at his hometown around six in the evening. The fee wasn't much of a bother, and his brothers didn't protest, so it was pretty fine.

But when the train accident happened a month ago, this 'W' train station was closed for investigation for about a week or two, so Arthur was forced to sleep in Kiku's apartment. He was quite lucky, since the accident happened in Monday early in the month, and he was pretty late for his train because of a long lecture in his class. He had planned on staying at Kiku's place for a night. Kiku didn't mind, since Arthur often came to his apartment for group works or just some casual visits. When they heard about the accident, both of them were shocked to see how close Arthur was to get involved in it. And when they learned that the station was closed for further investigation, Arthur was pissed.

Arthur didn't want to use any other train station, thinking that 'W' station was better than any other train stations in the town. Because he couldn't come home as the train station he always used was closed, he was forced to ask his brothers to bring him clothes for two weeks at most via phone call and messages, and Allistair, his eldest brother, brought his bag full of clothes by another train station. Arthur was pissed off and complained almost every day, to the point of almost making Kiku snapped at him, but he survived. And when the station was opened for business once more, he almost cried in relief—not that he would admit it.

" _Bonjour_!"

Arthur blinked at the familiar voice, and he looked up. Francis Bonnefoy was standing beside his bench, smiling widely, his dark blue eyes sparkled.

The Brit paused for a second, before smiling uninterestedly. "Ah, you again," he muttered.

Francis pouted. "What's with the reaction?" he huffed. He then proceeded to walk to the front bench, and then turned around to face Arthur, smiling.

Arthur stared at Francis, then blinked. "What?" he asked, bewildered at the Frenchman's behavior.

Francis, still smiling, raised his eyebrows. "Well, aren't you going to sit with me?" he asked back.

The Brit blinked twice, before bookmarking his novel and closed it, picking up his bag, and stood up. He walked to the front bench and sat beside Francis who had already sat down.

Arthur set his bag down on the floor before glancing at his watch; four o'clock. He scoffed silently. This day, too, Francis was on-time, arriving exactly at four o'clock. He then sighed as he leaned back. "Why didn't you just sit beside me?" Arthur asked. "I mean, my usual bench is nearer than the front bench, and my side was empty."

Francis chuckled. "I'm picking up my friends, so they have to be able to see me," he replied with a smile. "The front bench is the nearest to the platform, so when they get off the train, they'll be able to see me."

Arthur hummed. "I guess you're right," he muttered. "But why are you so stubborn to pick them up when they clearly are not coming over? You've come here and waited for, like, four times, including this day."

"They'll come, I'm sure of it," Francis replied. "We've been friends since we were children, and we're always together ever since. So it's impossible for them to just ignore me."

"Wait, you said you three live separately," Arthur said, raising his thick eyebrow.

" _Oui_ ," Francis nodded. "We met as children back when we were in Primary International School, and we've been practically inseparable ever since. When we went back to our respective countries, we communicated via Skype, messages, and phone calls. When one of us wanted the other two to come over, the rest of us would always come over."

Arthur stared at Francis in amazement. "But what if one of you is busy or cannot come over?" he asked.

Francis shrugged. "Then we will just come over to his house," he replied. "If there's a work that has to be done, then we'll always help." Francis paused. "Or maybe not. Us three tend to procrastinate," he added with a snicker.

Arthur made a face.

"So," Francis started, "what are you doing for living?"

The Brit shrugged. "I work at a nearby market; a part-time job. My shift is uncontrollably inconstant, so I'm not sure if I really make much money. I also have other priorities like college and whatnot. But when life is being easy on you, you'll find that working a part-time job and attending a lecture is a piece of cake. However, there's an upcoming test, and I don't want to fail in college and become a bother for my family, so I decide that my first priority is my test. Fortunately, my good manager gave me a few weeks off until the test is over."

Francis nodded slowly.

"What about you?" Arthur asked back.

"Oh, I'm working as a designer's assistant," Francis replied, shrugging. "I'm quite good at sketching and sewing. I'm also pretty good in the kitchen, but nowadays, it's kind of hard to find a suitable job for someone who spends his time cooking and baking."

"Why can't you be a chef?"

"Well, I have to have my own restaurant. Besides, I'm already fine with my current job. My mentor is a really notorious designer, and he's really kind towards his clients and patrons. That jacket you're using now? My mentor's designing it. And this trench coat I always wear? My mentor gave it to me."

Arthur looked at his jacket, then looked back at Francis. "Whoa, that's pretty great," he said, smiling.

Francis smiled back. "So why do you always come to this station?" he asked, changing the subject.

"I am uninterested at the idea of staying in an apartment or a boarding house alone, though I've once stayed at my friend's flat. And my home is in the neighboring town, anyway, so I always book a return ticket from here to my home."

Francis chuckled. "Isn't that a bit unpractical for you to book a ticket everyday?" he asked.

"Not really. I'm quite used to it," Arthur said. "Oh, and by the way, I see you always arrive here exactly at four o'clock. Why is that?"

The Frenchman blinked. "Really?" he muttered as he looked at his watch. Then he chuckled nervously, shrugging. "I don't really know myself. I guess I'm always on-time."

Arthur hummed.

"What about you? You seem to arrive earlier than I in the last four days," Francis asked back.

"I usually arrived just before the train arrived, but I accidentally arrived earlier at the first two days," Arthur answered. "I purposefully arrived earlier yesterday and today."

"Eh? Why?"

"You don't need to know."

"What? But I want to know!"

"No, you do not need to know."

"Tell me why!"

"No."

" _S'il vous plaît_?"

"No."

"Oh, come on!"

"No!"

Francis used his kitten eyes technique.

Arthur shot him a disgusted look. "Still no. And might I say that your kitten eyes technique is only making you uglier."

" _Quoi_?! Oh, _vous êtes mal_! You meanie! I've trained my kitten eyes technique and my landlady said I'm getting better!"

"Your landlady? Then, I guess she has an eye problem."

"You're only jealous!"

"Huh? Why would I be jealous of you?"

" _Oui_ , you're jealous of me because I can use my kitten eyes technique. Unlike you who have such ugly eyebrows!"

"Say what again, frog?!"

"Ugly eyebrows! In fact, the first time I met you, I thought caterpillars were nestling on your head!"

"You come here, you bloody little twit! I'll strangle you right here and now!"

"Ah! Not the hair! _S'il vous plaît_ , not the hair! I've taken a good care of it since I was a child!"

"Good! Now I can destroy it and laugh at your ugly little frog face!"

"You won't dare!"

"Who said I won't?"

" _Non_! This is violence! I'll call the police!"

"Try calling them, then! I bet you left your phone in your apartment!"

" _Aieee_!"

And once again, they kept on like that, fighting and yelling and scratching at each other like children. Arthur had forgotten their fight yesterday, thinking that it was such a childish fight, but today, he really wanted to strangle the annoying Frenchman. Under no circumstance should one ridicule his eyebrows, or Arthur would definitely enrage. Arthur didn't ask to be born with thick eyebrows, and his brother all had the same thick eyebrows. What was the problem of having one?

It was already five thirty. A female voice warned the passengers of the arriving train to board. Arthur was gripping Francis' collar was about to punch him right in the face when he heard the voice.

The Brit clicked his tongue. "You lucky frog, be thankful that I have to go home now," he hissed at Francis before let the other's collar go. Arthur retrieved his forgotten novel and bag before walking to the platform.

"So are you coming here tomorrow?!" Francis shouted.

"Yes, but not for a frog like you!" Arthur snapped.

"Alright! See you tomorrow, _rosbif_!" Francis shouted again, waving his hand.

"Sod off, git!" Arthur spat through his shoulder. He finally got into the train, and when he sat on his usual seat by the window and looked up at Francis, he flicked his middle finger at him. Francis snickered, still waving his hand.

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 **A/N:**

 **Another fun conversation between Arthur and Francis! It's really fun to write both of them when they're fighting, really. XD**

 **There's no pairing, actually. I've planned the whole thing to be as platonic as I can, thought the hints are scattered around and you'll be able to see them right under a microscope, lol. XDD**

 **Reviews are welcome, as well as concrits. No flames, as I don't have a fire hydrant. Let me know your thoughts about this, and if you have a question, PM me. _Au revoir_.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

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Ever since that day when Arthur spoke for the first time to Francis (and fought for the first time, too), they had always seen each other. Arthur would arrive before Francis, and when they met at four o'clock, both of them would sit on the front bench and talk (sometimes bicker). It went like that for three weeks. Sometimes Arthur would arrive late because of group work or a long lecture, and he would run towards Francis who had already sat on the bench and waited. It was as if they had been best friends for a long time even though they had only known each other for three weeks, as much as Arthur hated to admit.

From their chatting and arguing, Arthur learned that Francis lived alone in his apartment, both of his parents died in a car accident when he was still in high school. After graduating from his high school, Francis moved here, leaving his uncle and aunt in France and preferred to live alone. He rented an apartment and, thanks to his brilliant talent of sketching and sewing, was accepted as an assistant of a notorious designer in the town.

Arthur learned more from their bickering that Francis was a cat-person, and owned an angora cat in his apartment. Arthur thought pets were not allowed in apartments, but the landlady had been too kind towards Francis, taking care of him like her own son when she learned his parents were both dead. He learned that Francis also loved flowers, and he often came to a florist in the town, so often even the florist remembered Francis and every of his request. His favorite flower was white lily, because it reminded him of _fleur-de-lis_ , the majestic emblem of France (Arthur rolled his eyes at that). That, and because it reminded him of someone Francis cherished so much, but died in a truck accident.

Arthur had ever wondered why everyone around Francis died in accidents. He had ever thought if Francis was cursed or something, but he dismissed the idea.

Francis' friends were Antonio and Gilbert. At least that was what Arthur heard whenever Francis mentioned them. He learned that Antonio lived in Spain and Gilbert lived in Germany. Francis never mentioned their families, only saying that they were good friends and hoped that they would still be together.

"Aaah, I should really introduce you to my friends," Francis muttered with a smile one day after a fight. "Who knows, maybe you three can be best friends."

"Yes, without you, maybe we can be friends," Arthur snapped.

Francis snickered. "You're so mean to me," he replied.

"Well, you're annoying."

"But you still went to meet me, anyway."

"Shut up."

"And you said I'm annoying."

"I said shut the bloody hell up, frog."

"Even if you call me frog, you still went meeting me. Am I that attractive?" he winked.

"What part of 'shut the bloody hell up' do you not understand?"

"The 'bloody hell' part, maybe?"

"I thought you can speak English."

"I am now, aren't I?"

"Then I guess you've already known it's a British slang."

"I know."

"Then why did you ask?"

"Because I want to annoy the hell out of you."

Arthur grabbed Francis' collar with a death grip. "You annoy the hell out of me and I'll beat the shit out of you," he hissed, three ticks of veins popped out on his temple.

Francis laughed. "Hon~ you're angry."

"Good observation, Sherlock. Who do you think is the cause?"

"Now, now. Calm down, _mon cher_. We don't want any bloodshed here."

Arthur then released Francis with a growl. "I still don't understand why I always arrive here early to meet you. You're a pain in the arse, and such a bloody git. I don't understand why I approached you in the first place! I don't even know why we're friends at all!"

"Hon~ maybe because I'm attractive?" Francis winked.

Arthur sent him a disgusted look. Francis chuckled at the look the Brit gave him, before turning away. Silence then followed. Both the Brit and the Frenchman were drowned in their own thoughts. The train passengers walked past them, never giving them a glance.

"But I'm grateful you talked to me that day."

Arthur blinked and turned at Francis.

The Frenchman smiled longingly at the railway. He closed his dark blue eyes. "No one has ever paid any attention to me, if you want to know," he said, opening his eyes. "They're just walking past me, not even acknowledging that I'm here. At first I was scared if no one would ever notice me, but then you came." Francis turned to Arthur with a smile. "You noticed that I'm here, even daring to sit beside me and talk to me."

The Brit stared at the Frenchman. Then he huffed. "That's because you were acting so odd, and people kept on ignoring you," he replied. Then he paused. "But why does no one ever notice you?" he asked slowly.

Francis shrugged. " _Je ne sais pas_. It's as if I'm invisible," he replied. "I thought I was starting to look like my Canadian cousin. No one ever noticed him back then, even his twin brother, _pouvre garçon_."

"Oh, so you have a cousin?"

" _Oui_. He has a twin brother, and people often mistakes him for his brother."

Arthur hummed.

"But it happens not too often now, though some people still doesn't acknowledge him," Francis continued. "He now works in the HPD, along with his twin brother. People still often mistakes him as his brother, though, and he gets in too much trouble because of it."

The Brit chuckled. "Poor lad," he muttered.

Time flew by as they both chatting and sometimes bickering, until Arthur's train arrived at five thirty in the afternoon. Arthur noticed the female voice in the intercom, before standing up. "Well, it looks like I have to go now," he said. "You're still waiting for you friends?"

" _Oui_ ," Francis replied, standing up.

Arthur sighed as he picked up his bag. "Well, then. Should they ever come, maybe you could tell them I said hello."

" _Bien sûr_ ," Francis nodded. "Be careful on your way home."

"Of course," Arthur replied, smiling. "So, tomorrow, at the usual time?"

" _Oui_!"

Arthur got on the train and sat by the window on his usual seat. He looked out the window, where he could see Francis waving his hand with a big smile. Arthur waved his hand back at him. And the train moved.

It was one of few rare times Arthur and Francis bid their goodbyes that did not involve violence, yellings, arguments, and profanities.

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"Arthur- _san_ , when will we work on our project? We need to finish it before the test starts," Kiku asked through the cellphone.

"Yes, yes, I'm sorry. I just can't come over to your flat this week," Arthur apologized as he paced around his bedroom. "There's someone that I just have to meet in the station. I really am sorry. Maybe we can work on it on Saturday? I should be free of lecture by then."

"You've gone to the station early despite the fact that your train arrives at five thirty? Is someone you meet that important?" Kiku asked again.

"Well, you do remember when I told you I've made a friend outside of college, don't you?" Arthur said. "He's a Frenchman, quite annoying, and a sodding git."

He heard a faint chuckle from the other line. "If you feel he's annoying, then why did you befriend him?"

"Well, he said no one had ever paid him any attention, and he was practically invisible until I approached him."

"Aah, so you took pity on him?"

"Hmm, well, you can put it that way, I guess. But I didn't know that he was invisible the first time I met him."

"He goes to the station every day?"

"Yes, just to pick up his friends who, to this day, never arrive. Weird, isn't it?"

"I think so."

"Art," Allistair called from the doorway. Arthur turned at him, covering his phone. "Dinner's ready," the redhead said, before turning around and leaving.

"Kiku, I have to go. The dinner's ready," Arthur whispered to the phone.

" _Hai_. Then we should get started on the project on Saturday, as you said. Where do you want to start?"

"Your place, if you don't mind."

"No, I don't mind. See you tomorrow, then, Arthur- _san_." And the line went off.

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 **A/N:**

 **Sorry for the OCCness.**

 **But sometimes I'm fond of peaceful conversation between Arthur and Francis. Sure, writing their bickering and argument is really hilarious, but a peaceful and casual conversation between them is way too rare.**

 **And Kiku is here, too! XD**

 **Please review and comment, give me concrits and let me know your thoughts about this chap. No flames. Have a question? Just PM me. Stay tune for the next chap!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

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Saturday, 14:16 PM, Kiku's apartment

"Alright, let us get started, then," Arthur said, smiling as he brought a stack of papers on his hands. On his back, a few rolls of large papers stuck out of his bag. The Brit sat down on the floor, setting the stack of papers and his bag down.

Kiku had prepared a stack of folio papers, colorful markers, black and red inked pens, pencils, and a few rulers. "What part do you want to start on?" he asked.

Arthur picked up the papers and scanned a few of them. Finally he passed one paper to Kiku. "How about this one? I think it's the best topic for starters," he suggested.

Kiku received the paper and scanned it. After a moment, he looked up, nodding. "This is a good start," he said.

They then began to work on their project. They talked while working on their project, sometimes taking a break by watching TV or playing a video game. Kiku occasionally went to his kitchen to retrieve some snacks and beverages, in case one of them was hungry or thirsty. They both worked hard on their project, writing on their papers and lining some sentences with colorful markers. Sometimes they asked each other about the current subject they were working on, or just talked about random stuff they came up.

"Oh, by the way, you remember that day when I asked you to take me to the railway station, but you said Ludwig had asked you already," Arthur said.

"Yes, what about it?" Kiku asked, straightening his body.

"Where did you take Ludwig?"

"The 'H' cemetery," Kiku answered.

Arthur frowned. "Cemetery? Why would he want you to take him there?"

" _Wakarimasen_ ," Kiku muttered, shaking his head. "But I think he wanted to mourn for one of his deceased family."

"Who died?"

"I think it was his grandfather, but I'm not really sure. He didn't want to talk about it."

"Aah," Arthur nodded slowly. "Tell him my condolences, then."

Kiku nodded, bowing to continue his work.

Arthur truthfully had never seen Ludwig's family. He had ever heard of his grandfather from Ludwig, but never seen him in person. Ludwig had ever said his whole family was in Germany, and it was only he who went abroad to continue his study in college. But even though he and Ludwig rarely talked to each other, Arthur still considered him as a friend, so he felt obliged to send him his condolences.

Kiku and Arthur spent their time finishing their project, and unbeknownst to them, it was already late afternoon.

"Good lord, I'm late!" Arthur exclaimed as he looked at his watch; five fifteen in the afternoon.

"Eh? Already?" Kiku asked incredulously.

"I better get going! My train will arrive soon!" He frantically put his things into his bag. "Sorry, but I really have to go home now! You don't mind if I leave our work at your place?"

"Ah, I don't mind at all," the Asian replied. As Arthur hurriedly tidied his things up, Kiku opened his mouth, "I can take you there, if you want."

"You can? Oh, thank God, yes please. Let's get hurry."

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By the time Arthur arrived at the station, it was already five twenty five in the afternoon. Arthur bid his goodbye to Kiku before dashing inside the building. He hurriedly went to the locket to take his booked ticket, but unfortunately he had to get in line. And by the time he got his turn, the female voice in the intercom echoed, warning the passengers to board on the train.

Arthur gasped, surprised by how fast time flew by when he was having fun. He immediately took the ticket and dashed to the platform, pushing everyone in his way. He only had one goal; getting on the train. He ignores every grunt and protest whenever he pushed someone off his way—he had to get on the train, no matter what.

He got on the train just before the doors were closed behind him. Arthur sighed in relief. That was a close one. He was surprised that the station was full even if it was Saturday. The Brit then sat on his usual seat by the window and looked out, only to find out that he had forgotten to meet a certain Frenchman.

Arthur's green eyes widened in shock. Francis was sitting there, on his usual bench, looking around the railway and the station entrance, checking his watch. Arthur could see worry and anxiousness on his face every time Francis looked at the entrance door.

Guilt suddenly washed him up when Arthur realized he had made two mistakes; he had made Francis waiting for him for an hour and a half, and because of that, Francis was thinking that Arthur was late to board on his train.

He tried to wave his hand at Francis to catch his attention, but the Frenchman didn't budge from his spot, still looking around the station worriedly. Did he not see me? Arthur thought.

And the train started to move, bringing Arthur who dejectedly looked down on his shoes, ashamed of what he had done, and leaving Francis who was still looking around anxiously.

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"I am such a worthless bastard," Arthur muttered to himself, gripping his head and rocking back and forth on the sofa, with Dylan and Seamus on his either sides. "How can I forget to meet Francis? How can I forget to at least warn him that I'll be late?"

"Now, now, stop that self-loathe speech, wee lad," Seamus comforted, patting his back. "You can't blame yourself for what happened."

"But he did forget to meet Francis, so Arthur is at fault," Dylan pointed out.

"Dylan!" Seamus warned. "Stop making him more miserable than he already is!"

"I am a miserable, worthless, terrible bloody git who can't even warn a friend that I'll be late," Arthur murmured, still gripping his blonde hair. "Am I worth enough to be a friend? Probably not. No! I am a horrible friend! I am not worth to be Francis' friend! Why did I approach him in the first place?! Francis deserves a friend better than I am! I am a horrible little piece of shit."

Seamus sent a glare to Dylan, who shrugged. "I just stated a fact," he defended himself

The light red haired brother sighed. "Hey, hey, stop that speech, I'm serious," Seamus said. "Look at the bright side. At least now you know that you have to warn Francis first that you will be late coming to the station, so Francis doesn't have to worry about you."

"That's not comforting, Seamus," Allistair said, walking into the living room with a towel around his neck.

Seamus and Dylan turned at the eldest brother. The second brother frowned. "Well, sorry if I can't comfort people," Seamus huffed.

Allistair approached Arthur and placed his hand on his shoulder. "Art, I only have this one suggestion, and I don't really care if you want to follow it or not, but if I were you, I would have bought something as an apology," he said before straightening up and leaving the three.

There was a short pause.

"Wow, that would really be the only solution," Dylan muttered.

"I think Allistair is right. Art, you should really buy Francis something to make it up for him!" Seamus exclaimed as he patted Arthur's back.

Arthur was quiet for a moment, before looking up at his brothers. "What should I buy?" he asked slowly.

"I don't know. Something that Francis likes, maybe?" Seamus applied.

"What does Francis like?" Dylan asked.

Arthur paused. "Well, pretty much everything," he answered. "He loves everything beautiful."

Seamus tapped his chin. "Beautiful," he repeated slowly. Both Dylan and Arthur stared at their older brother in anticipation. There was a pause before Seamus slowly came on realization. "You said Francis has long hair, didn't you?" Seamus asked, followed by a nod from Arthur. "Then why don't you buy him some kind of a headband?"

"Headband?" Arthur repeated.

"Or maybe a hairpin?" Dylan suggested.

"No, it would make him look like a girl," Seamus disagreed. "Besides, Arthur had said he had a beard."

"But he said it's thin, right?" Dylan argued.

"It's still beard. One should have known that Francis is a man from his beard."

"But it's a thin one! No one would have known."

"Why are we discussing Francis' beard?" Arthur asked suddenly. "Our objective is supposed to help me buy something for Francis."

"Well, I've given you a suggestion," Seamus said.

Arthur pondered Seamus' suggestion. He hummed. "No, he wouldn't like headbands," he muttered. A short pause followed as Seamus and Dylan stared at Arthur. "But a hair band might work," the youngest blonde said slowly.

"Yes! Buy him a hair band! A cute one!" Seamus exclaimed.

"Why do I feel like we're planning to give a present to a random girl?" Dylan murmured.

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 **A/N:**

 **Sorry for the late update. I'm so bewildered at the fact that I have to go home so late in afternoon by the third week of school. I was so tired I didn't realize I hadn't updated yet.**

 **Thank you for those who stil reviewed and read this fic, hope you enjoyed it. Please review again. (: See you in the next chapter! :D**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

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In the following Sunday morning (the times when usually Arthur would stay in his house, and Francis knew this, too), as soon as Arthur got off of his train, he immediately ran to the nearest accessories shop. Once inside, he scanned rows and rows of colorful hair bands and ribbons on an aisle, trying to find an attractive one. A few minutes went by as he scanned from one row to another, until a certain ribbon caught his eyes. It was a plain dark blue ribbon, with no shades or other motives adorned on it. Arthur took the blue ribbon, inspected it for a while, before running towards the cashier.

Alright, I've got the gift. Now I just have to find the git, Arthur thought as he received the ribbon which was put inside a colorful paper bag. He went outside, determined to immediately give Francis his gift.

Arthur took a deep breath. "Okay," he murmured. "The frog always comes here, so he should be here at four o'clock. If I want to apologize immediately, I should find him before then. But where to start?" Arthur closed his green eyes and thought hard.

Wait, he said he's a designer's assistant, he thought. Arthur gasped in realization, then removed his jacket to see if there was a name of the designer attached to his jacket. He was relieved he never cut off the designer's name on every of his shirts and jackets. Arthur inspected his jacket, and finally found what he was searching for.

"Jocelyn," Arthur murmured. Now that he mentioned it, Arthur thought he had ever heard that name. He thought and thought harder, ignoring the weird looks the passengers gave him. After a while of him standing in front of a shop, holding his jacket in one hand and his paper bag of gift in another hand, Arthur opened his eyes as he recalled something. "Of course! The Jocelyn store!" he exclaimed.

The store he mentioned was located in the heart of the town. He had ever been there once a year ago, to find himself a nice jacket, the one he was holding now. The journey from the station to that store would be thirty minutes by a taxi; maybe less if the traffic was clear. It was nine thirty, so Arthur would be there around ten.

"Alright, Francis, you bloody twat. You stay where you are," Arthur said to no one in particular, immediately dashing out of the train station to find a taxi.

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"Ve~ you want to meet _signore_ Jocelyn?" the brunette employee, who went with the name Feliciano Vargas, asked.

Arthur nodded. "Yes."

"Okay! Right this way, ve~" Feliciano said with a smile, leading Arthur through rows and rows of expensive dresses and shirts. The brunette Italian led the blonde Brit to a staircase behind an aisle, and they ascended the stairs, up to the second floor. Feliciano turned to Arthur. "Ve~ can I ask what business you have with _signore_ Jocelyn?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm actually looking for someone," Arthur answered. "He said he works here, so I thought maybe I can find him here."

Feliciano nodded. "Okay, then I hope you can find him!" he said, smiling brightly.

"I hope so," Arthur muttered. "Say, you're an employee in here, are you?"

As they stepped on the second floor, Feliciano turned at him. "Ah, _sì_. My _fratello_ and I work here as employees," he answered as he led his guest to the designer's workshop.

"Oh, you don't suppose you both have any contact with the designer's assistant?"

Feliciano shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not, ve~" he replied.

Arthur's shoulders slumped slightly. He thought it would be faster if he could question the employee. Arthur didn't expect that the employee didn't have any contact with Francis. Maybe that was why Francis didn't mention anything about the employees. Francis worked on the second floor, whereas the employees worked on the first floor.

Wait, if Francis worked on the second floor, he should have met Feliciano and his brother in the process, because they were working on the first floor, whereas he worked on the second floor. How come Feliciano and his brother never had any contact with Francis? Surely they should have had any, even if it was just a small greeting or a minor glance.

"So you're going to ask _signore_ Jocelyn about your missing person?" Feliciano asked as they arrived in front of a door.

"Yes, maybe he knows something," Arthur replied, nodding. "I told you, he works here, so the good fellow should know something."

"Ve~ this is just a small warning, but don't ever mention about _signore_ 's assistant," Feliciano whispered. "Whenever I mentioned it, _signore_ went so sad. I don't know why, though."

Arthur frowned. He was looking for Mr. Jocelyn's assistant! Francis said it himself, he was working as Jocelyn's assistant. How come he could not mention his own assistant? And the good sir went sad whenever Feliciano mentioned it? Why would Mr. Jocelyn be sad? It was his own assistant—Francis was his assistant.

Feliciano knocked on the door. "Ve~ _signore_? Someone wishes to see you!" he called.

"Bring him in!" a muffled voice echoed from the inside.

Feliciano opened the door, letting Arthur to see the room behind it. It was quite a large room, with the wall painted in warm color, the window placed on the right angle where the sunlight would fill in the room. Two desks were placed on a wall, most of them covered in papers and clothes. Two opened cupboards were placed on either sides of the room, filled with various designed dresses, shirts, pants, and tuxedoes. Sewing machines placed on certain places, the on the wall, doodled papers were stuck on every corner. Sitting on one of the chairs was the notorious designer himself. The designer turned his chair around to see his guest.

"You can leave us, _monsieur_ Vargas," Jocelyn said with a smile.

" _Sì_ , _signore_!" Feliciano exclaimed. He turned to Arthur. "I hope you'll find your missing person, _signore_ Kirkland!" And off he went.

"Missing person?" Jocelyn asked. He stood up. "Do you want to ask me some questions about this missing person of yours?"

"Ah, yes," Arthur nodded. He paused as he looked around the room. He saw sketches and doodles on the wall. There were some doodles that had a quite different style from the rest. They must be Francis'. Arthur only recognized two styles of doodles and sketching in this room; one of them must be Francis' sketches and doodles. At one corner, Arthur could see a vase with a white lily inside. It must be Francis' post when he was working, as most of the doodles and sketches there were different than the ones on Jocelyn's post.

"Beautiful lily, isn't it?"

Arthur blinked and turned to Jocelyn, who stared at the vase on the corner. The Brit nodded. "Yes, it's beautiful," he muttered. After a pause, he turned to the designer. "Um, sir, may I ask a few questions about your assistant?" he asked slowly.

Jocelyn faced Arthur, his middle aged face seemed surprised. "Ah," the designer muttered as he sat back on his chair. "You were one of his friends, I assume?" he asked.

Arthur frowned at the usage of tense. "Um, yes."

The French designer chuckled. "Such a talented boy. I've already considered _cher_ Francis as my own son. I even planned to give my whole enterprise to him. Well, what do you want to know about him, then?"

"Well, I'm looking for him," Arthur explained. "It's a long story, but let me sum it up; I've made a mistake. A big and kind of scandalous mistake, and I intent on giving this—" he held up his ribbon gift so the designer could see it "—to him, as an apology. If possible, I would like to give this immediately. The last time I saw him was in the 'W' railway station. I'd like to know where I can find him."

The designer stared at Arthur the whole time with an unreadable look. As soon as Arthur finished explaining, Jocelyn linked both of his hands, deep in thought.

A long silence followed.

After a few minutes passed, Jocelyn broke the silence with a sigh. "Well, you already know that Francis is not here," he muttered. "He had not been here since a month ago, to be exact. If I were you, I would have gone to the florist. I may have gone to his apartment instead, but the last time I've ever seen him was in his favorite florist."

Arthur frowned. Florist? "Ah, which florist do you mean, sir?" he asked. He remembered Francis had said he had a favorite florist he always went to, but Arthur didn't know which one.

"I don't know the name of the florist, but _cher_ Francis bought that flower from his favorite florist," Jocelyn replied, pointing to the white lily inside a vase that was set on Francis' supposed desk. "As you know, Francis loved flowers, especially white lilies."

"Yes, I know he loves lilies," Arthur said, nodding. "So where can I find this florist, sir? Do you know anything about it?"

"What I know is that the florist is ten blocks away from this place," Jocelyn answered. "I forgot the name of the florist, I'm afraid, so you have to find it for yourself."

Arthur nodded, his green eyes determined. "Yes, sir. Thank you so much for your help," he said, smiling. The florist was only ten blocks away, so Arthur should find it easily. He knew a florist when he saw one, so this should be a piece of cake.

Just as Arthur was about to turn around and leave, Jocelyn halted him. "Wait a minute."

The Brit blinked, then faced the designer. "Yes, sir?"

"What is your name, _mon cher_?" Jocelyn asked.

"Arthur. Arthur Kirkland."

Jocelyn looked at him straight in the eyes. "I should warn you, _mon cher_ Arthur, that your journey on finding your friend may not be as easy as you thought it would be," he said slowly. Then his grey eyes dimmed. "Because, unbeknownst to you, your friend may have gone and never come back."

Arthur frowned in bewilderment at the middle aged man in front of him.

"But I bid you good luck on finding the florist," Jocelyn added. " _Au revoir_."

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He found the shop. He could tell that it was a flower shop just by one glance, because the particular place had so many flowers placed outside of the shop. It only took fifteen minutes walk from the store to the shop. It was currently ten forty five in the morning. Arthur looked at the displayed flowers; various types of flowers were placed inside of various shapes of vases and pots. Arthur saw chamomiles and daisies in one vase, mixed with several colorful roses. There was a vase filled with colorful chrysanthemums. Dahlias and colorful poppies were also displayed. There was also a vase filled with several types of colorful lilies.

Lilies.

Arthur walked closer to the vase of lilies. He saw several red spider lilies, fire lilies, and—Arthur's eyes widened at the sight of white Easter lilies. They were the same type of lily with the one he saw on Francis' desk earlier. Arthur knew Francis loved white lilies, but he never knew which type it was.

"Looking for something, sir?"

The Brit flinched at the female voice and turned to the owner. A young Belgian woman with short, slightly curly brown hair held back with a black ribbon stood in front of him. She donned a white shirt doubled with light blue dress and a pair of shoes. The nametag that was pinned on her left chest was read Emma. She smiled warmly.

Arthur paused. "Oh, are you the florist?" he asked.

The woman nodded. "Yes, I am," she replied with a smile. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Ah, I'm here looking for someone, actually," Arthur replied.

Emma blinked her green eyes curiously. "Someone?" she repeated.

"Yes. I was told that there's a Frenchman who always comes here. He's my friend, and I did something bad to him, so I want to apologize," Arthur explained. "Do you by any chance know where I can find him?"

The young florist frowned. "Um, there are many Frenchmen who always come here, sir. Is the man you're looking for has any characteristics?"

"Oh, right. How stupid of me," Arthur muttered, chuckling nervously. "He's my age, probably older a few years. He's around my height, and has blonde hair and blue eyes. He also has thin stubble around his chin."

"Anymore?" Emma asked, tilting her head.

"Um," the Brit frowned, trying to recall any other characteristics he could remember. "He, um—he loves white lilies. This kind of lilies," Arthur said, pointing to the Easter lilies.

Emma looked at the flowers Arthur was pointing at, and paused. She stared at the Easter lilies for a few moments, her face unreadable. Arthur looked at her in anticipation, patiently waiting for her to remember. Slowly, Emma's face changed to realization as she turned to face Arthur once more.

"He had long hair, right?" she asked slowly.

"Yes, long, shoulder-length blonde hair and blue eyes. He loves white lilies," Arthur answered, nodding.

"His name is Francis Bonnefoy, isn't he?"

Arthur nodded eagerly. "Yes."

"He's gone."

It took Arthur a few seconds to comprehend what Emma had just said. He stood there, staring at the young woman in front of him with wide eyes, for a few seconds, with no sound coming from him. Finally, when he was able to find his voice once more, he frowned. "W-what? What do you mean gone? He went away?" he stammered, wishing silently that the florist didn't mean what she just said.

"I don't know the details. What I know is that he doesn't visit us anymore," Emma said glumly.

"Wha—since when?"

"Since a month ago, when the train accident happened," she answered. "I thought he was mourning for his loss ones, but he never came back ever since. I don't know what happened—he just suddenly didn't visit us anymore. My little brother missed him so much, and my big brother was annoyed that he lost one of our regular customers. I was so sad—I mean, he always complimented our shop, gave me some tips on how to care for some certain flowers, and had been so kind to us. Now he's gone and I don't know what happened to him."

"But I just met him!" Arthur argued. "I last saw him at the 'W' railway station! In fact, I've been meeting him there! He was perfectly healthy, and I saw no signs of depression or sickness!" This was weird. Every reply he received whenever he asked about Francis was odd and ambiguous.

Emma stared at him with a look Arthur couldn't explain.

Arthur sighed desperately. "I just want to find him and apologize. Can you tell me where I can find him?"

The young florist paused for a moment. "Maybe you should check his apartment. It's around six blocks from the 'H' Primary School."

'H' Primary School. He didn't know where that was, but Kiku knew. All Arthur had to do was to call him and take him to where the school was. He would be there in no time. Arthur really hoped Francis would be in his apartment.

"Alright. Thank you for the help, and forgive me for bothering you," Arthur said rather apologetically.

The young woman laughed. "It's alright. I'm also wondering where he is, too. Contact me if you find him, okay?"

"I will." And Arthur turned around, reaching for his phone.

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 **A/N:**

 **Welp, finally able to update after so long.**

 **For espeon64, I hope this chapter isn't suck. I don't want to give a confirmation yet, but please, do read and review. I still wanna know dear readers' opinions about this, and I also nervous on how this would turn out.**

 **For those who had reviewed from the beginning, please review again! XD No flames, though. Concrits is welcomed. See you in the next chap!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

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Arthur didn't expect his journey from the florist to the 'H' Primary School would take more than an hour. And surely he didn't expect the traffic jam to be this long. By the time Arthur arrived at the apartment, it was almost two in the afternoon. And his legs were tired from being folded for almost three hours sitting inside a taxi, waiting for the traffic jam to clear out.

He sighed as he pushed the doorbell. Arthur had come this far; he would probably kill Francis if he wasn't in his apartment once he met him. Kiku couldn't take him to the school, so Arthur hurriedly called a taxi. After a long wait, he finally got out of the taxi, paid the driver, and walked six blocks to find a tall mansion-like building. At least he got to stretch his legs.

Opening the door was the landlady, a seemingly nice old woman.

"Oh, hello, there," she greeted. "Do you want to rent an apartment?"

Arthur smiled good-naturedly. "Ah, no," he declined. "I'm actually looking for someone. He rented a flat here. He's a friend of mine."

The woman smiled warmly. "Well, come in, son," she opened the door wider, letting Arthur stepped inside. "We can talk in my room," she added, closing the door.

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Arthur stared at the white cat on the old lady's lap. The cat was fluffy—angora, he noted—with blue eyes and a collar with a rose-shaped decoration on its side. It meowed when the lady petted its fur. He then turned to her. "Is it yours?" he asked.

"Oh, no. He actually belonged to someone else," she answered. "But something happened to the previous owner, so I decided to keep him," she added, referring to the cat, her grey eyes dimmed at the mention of the owner. Then she looked up at Arthur. "So, about your missing friend?"

The Brit blinked. "Oh, yes. His name is Francis Bonnefoy. He rented a flat here, yes? Is he here?"

At the mention of the name, the woman's grey eyes widened in shock. She did not move for a moment.

Arthur, feeling alarmed at the landlady's odd reaction, frowned in bewilderment. "Um, madam, is something wrong?" he asked slowly.

The white cat jumped from its perch on the woman's lap as she stood up from her sofa. She approached her dresser. There was a short pause. "He's not here," she murmured.

Arthur blinked. "P-pardon me?"

"Have you heard about the train accident a month ago?" she asked silently.

The train accident? Why did it have anything to do with Francis? Arthur frowned, still trying to process what was actually going on and why everyone reacted so peculiarly. "Uh, yes," he replied. "The train lost its balance and stumbled into the platform of the station, killing 102 victims in the process."

The old woman nodded slowly. "My dear Francis was one of them," she muttered.

It took Arthur seconds to actually process the words he had just heard. When he did, he widened his green eyes in shock and disbelief. "But—but I had just met him!" he argued, standing up from the chair he was sitting on. "The last time I saw him was yesterday, in the 'W' railway station, and he was perfectly healthy! There were no signs of depression, illness, or any scar at all! He didn't look like he was going to commit suicide or anything! Francis was there—alive—I saw him with my own eyes!" What was this? What the bloody hell was going on, actually? Arthur did not understand every bit of information he received. They were complete opposite of what he had been through.

The woman didn't move. She stayed there, leaning on her dresser for a moment. She then spoke, "Francis is not here, my son. He's gone."

"No! That's not possible!" Arthur exclaimed, still could not believe what he just heard. "Then who was he who I saw coming at four o'clock in the afternoon every day in the station? Who was he whom I talked with? Who was he whom I befriended with?" What was wrong with these people? What the bloody hell was going on?! If Francis was really dead, then who was that long blonde haired and blue eyed sodding git who Arthur always fought and argued with in the station?

"You must be joking," the landlady murmured, finally facing him. "The police had reported to me privately that Francis Bonnefoy is dead. He is dead along with the other 101 victims in the accident."

Arthur fell silent.

Police?

The Brit immediately ran out of the room, ignoring the shouts from the old landlady, and quickly reached for the front door. He got out of the building and ran along the sidewalk, back to the 'H' Primary School where the taxi put him down.

Bollocks. Every information Arthur received was utterly ridiculous. As he ran, he could not help but think that ever since Arthur saw Francis in the station, something was off. He recalled that the train passengers didn't even acknowledge Francis at all, just like what he said. They never gave him a single glance, and just walked past him without a word. Not even the janitors or the staff. No one—except Arthur. Arthur saw him walking and sitting on the front bench. Arthur saw him coming into the station at four o'clock every day to wait for his friends. Arthur even dared to approach him and talk to him. And Francis talked back! Francis spoke, shouted, yelled, laughed, snickered, grinned, smiled, cried, groaned, grunted—Francis basically responded every of Arthur's actions as humanly as possible. Ghosts would not.

Would they?

Arthur clicked his tongue. Francis owed him an explanation. But right now, he needed to get to the 'H' Police Department. He remembered Francis said that his cousin worked there along with his twin brother. Arthur could confirm if the landlady's information was true or false. He hoped deep down that it was false. Arthur wouldn't believe Francis was actually dead a month ago just yet. Why, the first time he saw Francis was a few weeks ago! But a faint voice in his head told him otherwise, that Francis was really dead, and whom he always met at four o'clock in the station was actually his lost spirit.

Lost spirit? Arthur frowned. If what he saw was Francis' spirit, then why did he only see him? Wasn't Arthur supposed to see a lot of other lost spirits in the station if he could see Francis? It was a huge train accident, after all, said to have killed 102 victims.

The thought of Francis being one of them made Arthur's stomach churn. And not in a good way.

He approached a vacant taxi once he was in front of the 'H' Primary School gates. Arthur opened the passenger door, got in, and closed it.

"Where to, sir?" the driver asked.

"HPD," Arthur demanded. "And you better be fast. Time's ticking."

"Right away, sir."

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'H' Police Department, 15:10 PM

An officer walked briskly through the swarm of people in the hall. He looked over the cubicles around him, trying to find a certain Russian officer whom he supposed must still be working on a current case file their chief gave him. When he did find the man he was looking for, he quickly ran to the cubicle where his partner was in.

"Hey, Ivan, dude," the officer called, knocking on the cubicle wall and leaning against it.

The silvery haired Russian officer looked up to his blonde haired partner. "Ah, Πpивет, comrade Alfred," he greeted, smiling sweetly. "Have you done with your case file yet?"

"Nah," Alfred said, waving his hand. "Was about to take a break and have a coffee when I remembered you're still working on your case file."

"Then why don't you go take your coffee quickly and get back to work like everybody else?" Ivan retorted, adjusting his scarf.

"It's just a trivial case. A newbie would have done it in five minutes already," Alfred replied casually, pushing his glasses up to the bridge of his nose.

"If so, then maybe you should go back to work until you're completely finished," Ivan said. He shook his head. "Sometimes, I'm confused why I would mistake you for your brother. Matthew is way more serious than you are."

"Hey, don't bring Mattie into our conversation," Alfred said, annoyed.

"Al."

Both officers looked up to the source of the quiet voice. Standing behind the blonde officer was another man who looked almost exactly like Alfred. The difference was that Alfred had a cowlick sticking up on his head, while the other officer had a curl dropped in front of his face, and a slightly longer and wavier hair. He also had glasses.

Alfred flinched at the sight of his twin brother, his blue eyes widened in panic. "Matt! W-wha-what're you doing here?" he stammered.

Matthew raised an eyebrow at his brother, his purple eyes staring at his brother's. "What were you talking about, eh?"

"Nothing!"

Ivan smiled brightly. "We were just talking about how serious you are compared to comrade Alfred here," he said.

"Oh, thanks," Matthew replied with a somewhat smug smile. "I know how serious I am compared to my brother who always slacks off and procrastinate at the worst time possible."

Alfred pouted childishly at his brother, Ivan was giggling inside his scarf. "Matt, you jerkwad," Alfred whined. "Can you at least mention how cool I am whenever I work on a case? Imma hero, after all."

Both Ivan and Matthew rolled their eyes.

"By the way," Matthew said, changing the topic, "you both handled the train accident case a month ago, right?"

Both Alfred and Ivan exchanged glances, then nodded.

"There's a man who wants to meet you regarding that case, eh."

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"So, mister..."

"Arthur Kirkland."

"Ah, yeah." Alfred looked at the case file he was holding. He opened it, flipped some pages, before turning back to the Brit. "You said earlier you wanna confirm something?"

Arthur nodded. "Yes. It is about the victims of the railway accident that happened a month ago," he said.

Alfred did a double take. "Victims?" He looked at the case file, flipping some pages and opening some folded papers, before turning to his partner behind him. "Ivan, where's the book?"

"I'm looking for it, Alfred," Ivan answered, irritated, as he rummaging through files in the locker. When he did find the file he was looking for, he closed the locker and sat beside Alfred, putting the file on the table. "This is the book list regarding the victims of the train accident a month ago," Ivan explained. "It should cover all of the people involved."

"All of the people?" Arthur questioned. "Including the injured ones?"

"Well, yeah," Alfred answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "The people who were involved weren't just the killed ones, you know?"

"Alfred, behave yourself," Ivan warned.

"I'm looking for the 'killed ones', actually," Arthur said. "The media said there were 102 victims died in the accident."

"Hey, I was the one who said it."

"Alfred."

"Fine, fine." Alfred took the book, opened it, and flipped the pages. "The list of the injured ones is separated from the victims' list, and we're setting them alphabetically, so it should be easier to confirm whatever it is you wanna confirm."

Arthur looked at the American officer uncertainly. He had ever seen this officer from the TV, and in front of the media, he was all formal and professional. There was an air of authority emanating from him whenever cameras were facing towards him. But those formality and professionalism were all gone when Arthur met the officer in person. He felt like he was facing an obnoxious teenager. And he did look like one.

Ivan noticed the stare Arthur gave to Alfred, and he smiled. "I'm really sorry, he's always like this," he apologized, as if he could read Arthur's mind.

If that was supposed to be reassuring, then Arthur was not convinced.

"Ah, there it is," Alfred said, finally finding the list of the killed victims. He then looked up at the Brit. "So, what is it you wanna confirm?"

"Is there any Frenchman in the list?" Arthur asked.

"Well, yeah, a few," Alfred replied, flipping the pages of the book. "His name?"

"Francis Bonnefoy."

Alfred turned one page to another, searching for the mentioned name in the 'F' section of the book. He hummed as he searched. "Francis Armand, Francis Abington, Francis Balton—dang! There are so many Francises!"

"Just keep searching," Ivan muttered.

Arthur waited on the edge of his chair, both eager and anxious to hear the result. He couldn't help but biting his lower lip and shaking one of his legs. All of this had made him so nervous. He just wanted to say sorry to Francis; that was all! But why, the more he looked, the more he felt something just wasn't right? He had to be dragged in this kind of situation, and he knew he couldn't go back before he found out the answer. The previous faint voice in his head now shouted relentlessly to give up his hope, but Arthur couldn't give up just yet. Whatever the answer, he should be able to anticipate it. At least, he hoped so.

Alfred kept on flipping the papers, until he stopped at one page. He looked at it, pushing his glasses up and narrowing his eyes, before turning to Arthur. "Um, would you mind to spell the surname?" he asked, slightly nervous.

The Brit sighed. "It's B, O, double N, E, F, O, and Y."

Ivan leaned forward to see the page. "Oh, that's the guy," he muttered.

Arthur's heart skipped a beat.

Alfred gave the book to Arthur. "Is this the right man?" he asked.

The blonde Brit received the book and looked at the opened page. In there, the name Arthur had been so familiar with was printed clearly on the white paper. Underneath the name, the date of birth and the obituary of Francis were there as well. There was also a copy of Francis' ID card, along with his photo. Arthur recognized the person very well. He recognized the long blonde hair and those dark blue eyes.

The voice in his head was right.

Francis was dead.

Arthur's shoulders shook, his green eyes unfocused. Then, if Francis was dead, was the git who always argued with Arthur really Francis' spirit? And he didn't even tell him who he really was? Was everything he ever said was a lie?

"Bloody hell..."

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 **A/N:**

 **Ohohoho~ I see some of you already has your own theories about Francis and his friends. I applause to whatever your theories are, and I respect them. They're kinda interesting to me, honestly. :3 And in here, I will give you my confirmation that, yes, Francis is dead. But I'll just tell you that. More will come in the later chapters. And there's a guest under the name Franois who asked if Jocelyn in the seventh chapter is a real APH character or not, and the answer is no. Jocelyn is just an OC of mine who I just had to make considering Francis' job as a designer's assistant. If you have any more theories and want to share it, feel free to review or send it via PM. You can also ask me via review or PM if you feel there's something you don't understand. I'd be happy to answer, as long as it not considered as a spoiler. (:**

 **To be honest, this day is not really my best day. Something happened in school, and I was just really stressed and kind of depressed. My friends just wanted to help me out, but their comfort wasn't really helping, if I do say so. But that's enough chatting.**

 **Keep reviewing! I really appreciate your comebacks, compliments, and theories. No flames, concrits are welcome. See you in the next chapter! :D**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

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'W' train station, 16:45 PM

Arthur was tired. This whole escapade had made his legs shaking like there was an earthquake. The revelation about Francis had made him even wearier. The fact that Francis was dead, and the fact that he always saw him with his own eyes, sitting on his usual bench, waiting for his friends—no, that was a possible lie since Francis lied about his own existence—Arthur couldn't think about anything for the moment. All he wanted to do was going home, and forget everything ever happened. He was tired of being toyed with.

The Brit went in the line of his usual locket to get his round-trip ticket. While he was waiting, Arthur put both of his hands into his jacket pockets. One of his hands brushed something unfamiliar inside one of the pockets. Arthur yelped silently as he checked what he just touched. He pulled out the thing, revealing that it was his paper bag gift, his apology to Francis; the blue ribbon that he thought would fit on the Frenchman's hair.

Arthur swallowed. He lifted his watch to check the time, then realized that the ghost of Francis must have arrived and waited on his bench. Arthur frowned, thinking on how to confront the bloody frog after this.

As soon as he took his ticket, slowly Arthur walked to the platform, where vacant benches were available. Arthur could see him—Francis was sitting on his bench, looking very much alive despite what had happened to him a month ago. He was looking around the railway, as usual. Francis knew Arthur would usually stay in his house during Sundays, so he shouldn't have known Arthur was there. The Brit could do a sneak attack to confront the Frenchman.

Suddenly, Francis turned around, facing Arthur straight to his eyes. Arthur widened his green eyes, feeling his heart skipped a beat, shocked to see how Francis knew he was there. Maybe because he was a ghost, Francis could sense Arthur's presence? Only God knows.

"Arthur?" the Frenchman stood up, surprised. He smiled faintly. "What are you doing here?" he asked as he approached Arthur. "I thought you were back in your home, with your—"

"Stop right there!" Arthur yelled suddenly, cutting Francis' words, his arm stretched forward.

Francis halted in his tracks, just an arm away from Arthur. His dark blue eyes went wide at Arthur's scowling eyebrows, and the threatening look Arthur gave him as if Francis was a dangerous man.

"A-Arthur?"

Francis was nervous; afraid, even. He even took a step back. Arthur never showed his fierce side in front of Francis; only showing playful threats and punches to the Frenchman. Arthur knew this, so he sighed, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves down.

Seeing the Brit starting to calm down a bit, Francis bravely took a step forward. "A-Arthur, i-is there something wrong?" he timidly asked.

Without looking at the Frenchman, Arthur slowly and shakily reached for his jacket pocket. He pulled out his paper bag gift and held it in front of Francis, all the while looking away, not daring to look at the eyes of someone whom he thought was very much alive.

Francis eyed the paper bag Arthur held, then eyed the Brit in front of him in bewilderment. Said Brit still looked away, his blonde bangs covering his eyes. Assuming that Arthur intended to give it to him, Francis then timidly took the paper bag. He opened the bag and peeked inside. Francis' eyes widened, as he slowly pulled out a blue ribbon from the bag. He inspected the ribbon for a moment, before turning to Arthur in bewilderment.

Sensing Francis was staring at him, Arthur then spoke, still looking away. "I've gone to your work place." He paused. "I've also gone to your favorite florist. And I've paid your dear landlady a visit. I've even gone to the HPD."

"Arthur, what are you—"

Finally, Arthur looked up at Francis. "You died."

Francis stared at him, again, his blue eyes widened in shock.

"Everyone that I've asked reacted oddly for my liking," Arthur continued. "Their answers were too ambiguous. Both your mentor and the florist. At first I didn't want to believe it. I still had hope that you'd be somewhere else, alive, but your landlady's answer was too blunt, so I had to go to the HPD just to confirm if her words were true or false. Do you know what I found there? Your bloody obituary in the list of the killed victims of the railway accident a month ago."

Francis was visibly shaking, gripping the ribbon and the paper bag close to his chest. "A-Arthur, this isn't what you think—"

"Oh, so you admit it?" Arthur hissed. "You admit that you're lying to me this whole time? That you're trying to conceal your true existence?"

"No!" Francis shouted. Oddly, no one noticed him but Arthur. "No, you got it wrong, Arthur! I—"

"I got it wrong? I got it wrong?!"

" _S'il vous plaît_ , listen to me!"

"Why do I have to listen to a liar like you?! Everything you've told me is a lie!"

"No! Just—"

"I thought we could sort it out together," Arthur muttered. "I thought, maybe, I could give this friendship a chance. Maybe we could sort things out together and not slashing our heads off. But you make me change my mind."

"Please, just listen to me!" Francis cried.

"What? What do I have to listen from you?" Arthur hissed, scowling.

"Yes! Yes, I may have lied about me dying from that accident! But I've never lied about anything else! Everything I said to you every time we met is the truth!"

Arthur scoffed. "Well, you may have said the truth about Officers Matthew and Alfred."

Francis blinked his tears. "Eh?"

"I've asked him. Officer Matthew had confirmed that he once had a French cousin who died in a railway accident a month ago. The burial was in the 'H' cemetery. His twin brother was an obnoxious yank who people often mistook as Officer Matthew."

A pause followed, with the tense atmosphere so thick one could slice it with a hot butter knife. Arthur looked at Francis, his eyes demanding some more explanation from the Frenchman, whereas Francis didn't dare to look straight at the Brit's eyes.

"Tell me."

Francis looked up at Arthur; the Brit's expression was pained, betrayed.

"Tell me other lies you've ever told me since our meeting," Arthur demanded. "Aside that you're lying about your death. Is your existence now also a lie?"

Francis hiccuped silently, tears flowing through his cheeks. He shook his head.

Arthur paused. "You know? That ribbon you're holding now; it was actually my apology gift for making you wait and thinking that I was late for my train yesterday. My brothers even helped me out, thinking for the best solution. They ended up suggesting me for buying you a headband. Instead of a headband, I bought you a ribbon, thinking that it would fit on your hair. I searched for you just so I could give it to you faster, because I didn't want you to think I was ignoring you. I thought I could give it to you immediately and apologize, yet here we are, once again in this bloody station."

"I'm sorry!" Francis cried. He clutched the blue ribbon tightly. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry I lied to you!"

Arthur's frown deepened. "Oh, so you're sorry now?"

"If you want to hit me, just do so! I deserve it! Hit me, punch me; do whatever you want! Just, please don't—"

"Don't what? Leave you?"

Francis looked up at Arthur with teary eyes.

Arthur huffed silently. "Right. I suppose it is best for us if we don't see each other anymore," he slowly said.

"What?" Francis widened his teary eyes in disbelief. "No! Wait, I—"

"I've made a mistake," Arthur stated, "for approaching you that time. It won't happen again."

Arthur turned on his heels and started walking towards the station entrance. He ignored the anguish shouts from Francis, telling him to wait and listen to him. Arthur ignored them completely, until he felt a tug on his jacket.

Francis cried on Arthur's jacket. "Arthur, please! Don't leave me! I-I know I've lied to you this whole time, and I—I'm sorry for it! I know you won't forgive me, but please—just give me another chance—"

"It's too bloody late for that, Francis!" Arthur yelled, shoving the other away.

"Ah!" Francis groaned, stumbling onto the floor on his rear. Arthur winced when the Frenchman fell from his shove, but he kept on a straight face.

Arthur stared at the weeping Francis on the floor, his frown never left his thick eyebrows. "Just pretend that nothing had ever happened between us. I'm sick of being toyed with," he muttered, before he turned around, walking away.

Francis stared at Arthur's back, shock and disbelief was visible in tear-stained face. He then wept again, drooping his head down, the blue ribbon still in his hand. Teardrops stained his trench coat and pants, his shoulders shook as he wept there. No one paid him any attention.

Arthur was only a few feet away from the station entrance when he halted. After a pause, he turned around to look at the platform.

He found no one.

He only spotted the paper bag, but the content was nowhere to be seen. Arthur didn't see a certain blonde Frenchman in a trench coat anywhere in the station.

Arthur clicked his tongue in frustration, before finally walking towards the station entrance, exiting the train station, his mind in a mess. Arthur was so disappointed. He was disappointed with Francis for lying and betraying him, and he was disappointed with himself because he couldn't believe in Francis anymore. He strode outside the building, standing on the sidewalk, waiting for a taxi. People walked past him, sometimes giving him weird glances.

The sky was pale gray, thunder rolled in the distance.

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"Seamus? Uh, I think I won't be home for tonight," Arthur said to the phone. A pause. "Um, something happened, so I had to stay at Kiku's flat." Another pause. "Yes, I'm in his flat now." Pause. "What? Of course, he let me in." A pause again. "Um, well, y-you could say that, I guess." Another pause, and a desperate sigh from Arthur. "Seamus, let's not talk about it again. Please." A short pause. "Because this is already late, and I'm tired of what had happened earlier this day, and I need a rest. Plenty of it. Just drop it, please." A long pause. "Ah, yes. I think I'll need my clothes. I guess I won't be home for a few days, just in case. You can just send them in the morning. Oh, and also, bring my bag pack and my books. They're supposed to be on my table" Another long pause. "Yes, yes, I hear you, brother. Cheerio." Arthur removed his phone from his ear, pushing a button.

Kiku approached him with a tray of two bowl of miso soup in his hands. "Well?" he asked.

"They let me stay," Arthur replied. A sigh escaped his mouth. "I guess I will be here for a few days. Sorry for bothering you."

"Ah, no," Kiku smiled, shaking his head. "It's alright, Arthur-san. You're always welcome in here."

Arthur smiled apologetically. "Thank you, Kiku."

Kiku then put the tray on the table, sitting on his pillow. Arthur put his phone down and followed suit, sitting on an available pillow like Kiku, except he sat crossing his legs, whereas Kiku was kneeling. Arthur took a bowl Kiku prepared for him and the spoon.

They both then started dinner, eating their soup in silence. There was no other sound aside from occasional slurping sound from either two and the ticking clock on the wall.

"By the way," Kiku started after he swallowed his soup, "are you sure you don't want to visit your friend? Um, who was it, again?"

Arthur visible flinched. He slurped his soup. "Francis. And no," he said firmly. "I won't visit him anymore."

Kiku frowned in worry. "Arthur-san, maybe he had made a mistake, but you had made one, too. You should forgive him," he suggested.

"After what he had to me?" Arthur snapped. "I don't think so. What he did is out of hand, and I can't forgive him that easily."

Silence followed. Truthfully, Arthur didn't want to tell Kiku what had actually happened in the station, and everything about Francis. Kiku would freak out and Arthur didn't want to cause another trouble. So he only told the Japanese the outline of his problem, while hiding Francis' true existence just so Kiku wouldn't think that Arthur was a madman.

The dinner went on like that, until it was the time for both of them to sleep.

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 **A/N:**

 **Nggh... Finally able to update again. School is so frustrating...**

 **So... Arthur finally put two and two together, and he confronted Francis about it. And this happened. I was listening to a sad song repeatedly while doing this part, really.**

 **Review and no flames. Concrits are welcome. Stay tune for the next chapter.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

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Francis was walking towards the platform. It was Monday, the day his friends would arrive, and he was so excited. Gilbert had messaged him that they would be here soon (he didn't mention when, though, _le salaud_ ) and that he should be ready. Francis just quickly donned his light blue dress shirt and a pair of matching pants. He also didn't forget to wear his mentor's trench coat. It was his most precious thing after the necklace his mother gave him a night before the accident. He had bid a quick goodbye to his landlady who had been a second mother to him ever since he rented an apartment there. Thankfully, he hadn't forgotten to feed his cat, Lafayette, before he locked the door.

He jovially walked towards the front bench and sat there. Francis glanced at a nearby clock; four o'clock in the afternoon. He decided to wait there. Beside him was an elderly woman with a crutch resting on her side. Francis noticed the woman and gave her a warm smile. " _Bonjour_ , _Madame_ ," he greeted.

The elderly woman turned at him, and she smiled. "Ah, hello there, young man," she greeted back.

"How was your day?" Francis asked.

"It was fine, thank you," the woman nodded. "Are you here waiting for a train?" she then asked.

"Ah, _non_. I'm waiting for friends of mine, actually," Francis answered with a smile.

The woman nodded. "Oh, your friends," she murmured. "Yes, young people should have many friends, so they won't be alone. Aren't you agree, son?"

Francis chuckled. " _Bien sûr_ , _Madame_ ," he replied. "And what about you? Are you here for your train?" he asked back.

"Ah, yes," the woman replied, nodding. "I'm going home after visiting my children and grandchildren. They live here."

"Ah..." Francis nodded slowly. "And you're alone? Is your husband at home?"

"Yes. My husband paid my train ticket, and he can't leave our gardens," she replied. "He was afraid if someone would steal our vegetables."

Francis hummed.

"Tell me about your friends, son," the woman said suddenly.

Francis blinked at the sudden request, then laughed. "Well, there's nothing special about them, actually," he said. "Their names are Antonio and Gilbert. Antonio lives in Spain, while Gilbert lives in Germany with his family. I myself came from France. Antonio is the only son in his family, the same as I, while Gilbert has a little brother who studies here, at 'H' College. I know his brother as well as I know Gilbert. Antonio is cheery and a kind-hearted guy, while Gilbert is so much different than him. Gilbert is quite, err, wild, if I do say so myself. We've been friends ever since we were children, so we're practically inseparable."

The woman giggled. "It seems your life is full of color with your friends around," she said.

The Frenchman chuckled. "Ah, not really. Sometimes Antonio can be so annoying and Gilbert can be too wild for my liking," he muttered. "Gilbert always claims himself 'the King of Awesome' or something like that. Whenever Gilbert and I argue, Antonio would always be siding with me at the worst time possible, so Gilbert would always do something stupid in front of public. And Antonio would blindly follow him!" Francis sighed. "It's like I'm living with two naughty boys."

"Well, having the weirdest friends has its perks," the old woman smiled gently.

Francis chuckled. "I guess you're right."

Suddenly, a group of girls passed them by. They noticed Francis there, and Francis gave them a seductive smile and a wink. The girls giggled shyly as they walked on towards the station entrance, whispering to each other as they gave Francis another shy glance.

Francis looked at the girls through his shoulder, chuckling, before returning to chat with the elderly woman beside him.

Time flew by, and the elderly woman had already gone home with her train, leaving Francis alone with his thoughts. It was almost six in the evening, and Francis was still sitting on his bench, lazily staring at one passenger to another, bored beyond comprehension. Francis heaved a sigh, leaning on the bench. He checked his watch; five fifty seven. Three minutes until evening.

Inside, Francis cursed Gilbert for not mentioning when they would arrive specifically. But when he thought of it again, Francis should have asked. And he left his phone in his apartment. He sighed again. So those bastards wanted to play prank on him by tricking him to arrive early at the station and making him wait for them? Francis scowled. Well, if that was their plan, then they had succeeded. If by six they still hadn't arrived, Francis would go home and send cursing messages to Gilbert. The potato bastard deserved it. They had made him waste his precious time. And Lafayette had a nasty habit of making a mess of his bedroom when Francis was gone, so Gilbert should really pay for making him leave Lafayette alone in his apartment.

It was already evening, but more passengers came in the station, waiting for their trains. The platform was full, though the passengers weren't jostling. Francis checked his watch again; six o'clock. So far, there was no sign of Antonio and Gilbert being in the trains that had come and gone. Francis was annoyed. Lafayette might have destroyed his bedroom by now. Well, since they might not be here soon, Francis might as well go home to his apartment, fetch his phone, and send cursing messages to Gilbert for making him wait in the station for two hours.

He was about to stand up and leave the station, when suddenly screams were heard from the end of the platform. A loud boom and a sound of metal clashing against metal were heard, echoing through the station. The screams became louder, desperate, terrorized. The loud scraping sound of metal against metal echoed louder.

Francis was alarmed at the loud sounds. Because the platform was full of standing passengers, Francis was forced to stand up to see what was going on.

It might have been his biggest mistake, for doing so had costed his life.

He saw a large train over the heads of the passengers glided so fast, trampling poor souls on its way. Passengers screamed in terror, running here and there to escape the train's deadly path, like a bunch of mice trapped inside a cage with their predator inside. The train glided straight towards Francis, and for that one second, Francis could not move his legs. His brain told him to run, but his legs fell asleep on him. All he could do in that one second was watching the train immediately glided over him, shouts of other passengers that told him to escape its path fell on deaf ears.

The last thing Francis could remember was the train's headlight that shone his whole frigid body and his horror face.

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Arthur jolted awake. He sat on his futon, catching his breath as if he was just doing a marathon. Sweat rolled down his temple to his neck, wetting his shirt. He rubbed his face with his hands, attempting to calm his nerves down.

What the bloody hell was that? Why did he dream about Francis? And the train—what the bloody hell was that supposed to mean? How did the bloody train just suddenly glide over Francis and—

Arthur gasped. He could still remember the dream vividly. Francis was there, and other passengers noticed his presence. He talked to an elderly woman. He gave a seductive smile and a wink to a group of girls passing by, and the girls giggled shyly. Some even shouted at him to get away from the train when the accident happened. Unlike now, when nobody even gave Francis any glance at all. And the train that Arthur just dreamt; the train that stumbled into the platform and killed everyone in its path, and Francis was there, standing before the train...

That was how Francis died.

Arthur gripped his blonde hair. "Bloody fucking hell..." he cursed under his breath.

It was three twenty five in the morning.

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 **A/N:**

 **I haven't forgotten! I just don't have time! School projects and whatnot, and those random tests that teachers gave us; they give me headache... But here we are! I'm still alive, folks!**

 **My bro brought me an RPG game, called Undertale. We played, and I just suddenly hooked. I can't believe I just suddenly move from Hetalia to Undertale this fast. So if my updates are slow, please forgive me... I have tons of other Hetalia fanfics that haven't finished yet (still in my PC), but my only debt in Hetalia fandom is this fic, so I guess there's nothing to... worry? School is a jerk, tho.**

 **So, give me your thoughts about this chap! Review and no flames. Concrits are welcome. Stay tune for the next chapter!**


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